February 23rd
When she first woke up in Fenrir's bed the next morning, it took Hermione a moment to remember where she was. With the exception of the Muggle she allowed to bring her home to his flat and the days she was sick in Augustus' room at the Leaky Cauldron, it had been almost a year since she had woken up next to a man. Her first thought when she felt the heat coming off of her bed companion was that she was back in Hogsmeade. One thing Fenrir and Antonin had in common was the fact that they each gave off enough body heat that they were practically the human equivalents of a furnace. Once she remembered that she wasn't back in her home, she took advantage of the pleasant warmth by inching her body even closer to his.
Nothing inappropriate had happened the night before. Over dinner they had a long discussion about what she had been doing since she ran. Fenrir filled in some of the gaps in her knowledge of what had been going on the previous several months. Her defection was not common knowledge. Any time Antonin was asked where his wife was, he made up some excuse about her being off visiting her parents abroad. It was a ridiculous lie for several reasons. Most people didn't know the truth about her parents, but she'd confided in Fenrir years earlier when they first became friends. Though he didn't know all of the facts, he'd been able to figure out for himself that she was on the run.
He confessed that he assumed she'd managed to meet up with some of the other high-profile defectors that had yet to be caught. Her respect of and friendship with Rodolphus Lestrange was well-known. Somehow the wizard had been able to elude his master for almost four years. There were rumors that he was dead, but neither of them believed that was true. Roddy was resourceful. He wouldn't be found until he wanted to be found. Hermione didn't deny that she would be pleased to have her path cross his at some point in the future. Perhaps he could help her figure out what to do in the long term. What she was doing in the short term wouldn't work forever.
They stayed up late in the night talking. It had been comforting to be back with an old friend sitting in his warm, cozy cottage drinking cup after cup of hot tea. There were times that Hermione was convinced she would never be warm again. Too much time out in the elements had given her fears she never would have imagined before running. Her life itself was bizarre. Sitting with Fenrir had brought back a familiar sense of normality that she hadn't even been aware that she was missing. When every other sentence they uttered was punctuated with a heavy yawn, her host insisted they get to sleep. She'd offered to sleep out on the sofa near the fire. His cheeky insistence that his bed was the warmest spot in the entire house and there was plenty of space for both of them put that suggestion to rest.
Hermione turned on her side to stare at the sleeping werewolf. How many days had passed since she'd last done the same with another former lover of hers in London? She shook that thought out of her head. Augustus was a subject for the past, not the present. He'd made his feelings for her clear long ago. Returning her full attention back to Fenrir, she mused how fascinating it was that for a being that had caused so much death and destruction he seemed perfectly innocent and harmless in his sleep. He was the ultimate monster in the fears of all small children and their terrified parents. It was a reputation that was well-deserved and hard-earned. She should have been afraid of being alone with him, especially in his bed, but she was far from it. Experience taught her that he could be perfectly malleable under the right circumstances.
She never expected their relationship to progress beyond anything other than friendship and mutual respect. After her ridiculous fight with Augustus, she'd sought out comfort in all of the wrong places. Or all of the right places depending on how one looked at it. The entire Death Eater force was in a similar situation, seeking out the best methods to numb the pain and fear they were still experiencing even years after their Dark Lord's ascension to power. None of them lived what could be termed an easy life. Between fighting the Resistance and the in-fighting, some days none of them knew if they were going to live to see another sunrise. It created an atmosphere that begged for debauchery.
It had been one of those rare summer nights in Scotland where the heat was unbearable. After leaving the castle where their master set up his bastardized version of a royal court, she longed for nothing more than a bottle of fire whiskey poured directly down her throat. A meeting had not gone well. Many of them were punished for their failures. She had only narrowly escaped the Dark Lord's wrath. He never liked to exact her punishments directly. Usually, if he felt that she deserved to be taught a lesson, he insisted that Antonin do it on his behalf. Perhaps that was where the boundaries in their marriage began to be skewed. How many husbands were expected to beat and punish their wives by the Lord they'd dedicated their lives to? Though certainly no excuse for Antonin's behavior in the privacy of their own home, it wasn't a stretch to imagine that the same force he used in front of their master would eventually find its way into their home.
Stopping at the Shrieking Shack to catch her breath and enjoy some fresh air, she didn't know Fenrir was nearby until he stepped out of the shadows. She almost screamed and cursed him at the same time. Her reaction only made him laugh. Something in the air that night was different. Perhaps the heat went straight to her head. After standing alone with him for several minutes venting about the ineptitude of so many in their society, she had a crazy idea of how she could blow off some steam. Returning home to argue with Antonin wasn't a good alternative.
One press of her lips against Fenrir's and the wild animal inside of him came out to play. He hadn't been gentle. Just how she liked it. Ripping her knickers off with one sharp tug, he slammed her back against the side of the crumbling shack and invaded her ready and compliant body with a thrust that ripped a scream from her that was likely heard as far away as the village. After a first round that left them both bruised and begging for more, he'd kicked in a boarded up window. They spent the rest of the night moving from dusty room to dusty room destroying the remnants of the ruined furniture. It had been quite memorable.
In the midst of her reminiscences, Fenrir woke up to catch her staring at him with flushed cheeks. She couldn't get her mind off of that first night. It had been wild and exciting. She never was sure how many times she made it a point to find him again in the lead-up to the Full Moon. Fenrir took a deep inhale of the air in the bedroom and smirked.
"Pleasant dreams last night?"
Hermione was embarrassed that her body gave away her secrets. It had been a long time since she was with him. A few years, at least. Their clandestine meetings didn't stop with her forced marriage to Antonin. If anything, they'd increased. She wasn't sure if her husband knew about her extramarital affairs. He probably did. After all, she knew all about his frequent visits to Andromeda Tonks' flat. Antonin might have claimed that he was in love with his wife, but that didn't keep him out of the bed of his former Hogwarts sweetheart. No one ever claimed their marriage wasn't a complicated relationship. They certainly never claimed it was healthy either.
Fenrir pulled Hermione under his body in one swift motion. He loomed over her with a feral grin that put fear in the hearts of his victims. She didn't fear him, however. She was more excited than afraid. He wouldn't hurt her unless she asked him to.
"Care to tell me what naughty thoughts you were having to put your body in such a delicious state?"
He slid down the length of her body, stopping every few inches to take another deep inhale of the skin he methodically exposed with the unbuttoning of her pajamas. She giggled as his breath and then his lips tickled her skin, but she refused to answer his question. Determined to make her pay for her insolence, the werewolf ripped every stitch of clothing she had on off to her extreme delight. Her mind went fuzzy the moment his face disappeared between her thighs. All reservations about whether or not she'd made the right decision in seeking him out for temporary shelter evaporated with one lick of his practiced and talented tongue.